


Of Asphodel Blossoms and Black Roses

by NightmareLane



Series: Of Flowers and Murder [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Gore, Flowers, For Science!, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Language of Flowers, M/M, POV First Person, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Unrequited Love, until the sequel happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareLane/pseuds/NightmareLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew is a normal college boy that enjoys normal college things, namely flowers and resident science major Ryan. When a serial killer strikes, Andi's gonna have one hell of a time balancing his crush, his schoolwork, and his job at his florist's shop while everyone is convinced he's the douchebag murderer.</p><p>Oh, and he thinks in flowers. As if he didn't have enough on his plate.</p><p>(awful summary is awful please end me)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Asphodel Blossoms and Black Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Quick bit before we begin- this was written for a school assignment, so I couldn't make this quite what I wanted it to be. Had to stay mostly school appropriate, after all! I'm writing a sequel to this as we speak as well as working on the next bits of Flee, so I promise I'll try to update that, too.
> 
> Also, let me know if I forgot to tag something. I'm pretty new to that whole thing and this is the first completely original work I've ever posted ever, so I know I missed things. Thanks~!
> 
> Enough of me babbling. Please enjoy!

 

\----

_ Mary, Mary, quite contrary _

_ How does your garden grow? _

_ With silver bells, _

_ And cockle shells, _

_ And pretty maids all in a row. _

\----

Today begins just as any other. I wake up at 5am and roll out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I really hate mornings, but I have to wake up, since I arranged to take my college classes as early in the day as possible. Perhaps it doesn’t seem like the best idea, but in the afternoon I run a florist shop and I don’t dare open any later than noon. Even before I got into college, I ran that little shop. The routine is nice and normal, my own steady little island in the sea of change.

I shower and dress quickly, putting on my usual white turtleneck and blue jeans. I pause momentarily in front of the mirror, squinting at my skinny frame and too-big green eyes peeping out from behind badly cut bangs. I really should go to a proper hairdresser instead of cutting my own hair, but I barely make ends meet as it is and I can’t afford such luxuries. I sigh and head into the backyard, where my greenhouse rises from the grass. A blast of warmth and the smell of fertilizer greets me when I open the door and I grin, instantly relaxing.

Rows and rows of various flowers grow within the greenhouse, blooming year-round thanks to my constant care and attention to keeping the optimal environment for them. They grow so full and lush that most of the post they grow in are hidden. Various vines grow up trellises I attached to the walls a couple years ago, completing the illusion of a plant paradise.

I briefly check the soil to make sure that the watering system is working properly, picking up a small pair of pruning shears once I’m satisfied with what I find. I snip a few blooms from several of the plants and bundle them together, setting the ends into a little bag with a special solution I devised to keep them from wilting.

When I’m finished with that, I head back to the house and gather my school supplies, tucking my flower bundle into the side pocket of my messenger bag before I shoulder it. I slip my wallet into my back pocket, grab my keys, and leave for school. The house I inherited when my father died just a year ago is just a few blocks away from the college, so I can walk there instead of driving. I don’t even own a car- too expensive to be worth the short drives between home, college, and shop.

I walk into the building a half hour later, a quick glance at my watch showing it’s just a few minutes before six. I look around at the students milling about and squeeze my way through the crowd, glad that I’m small enough to fit between the groups of people standing around. The way they linger in the middle of the halls irritates me- this isn’t high school, people, let’s get a move on!

A sudden call of my name breaks me from my thoughts. “Andrew, hey, wait up!” I turn and smile at the tall figure pushing his way through the crowd. Daffodils bloom in my mind’s eye as my only true friend approaches and I slip my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans, trying to seem casual.

“Ryan, hey, how are you this morning?” I ask politely when he reaches my side, cheering internally when I don’t stumble over any of the words.

“Tired. I seriously regret signing up for morning classes. How do you handle this so well?” He yawns, rubbing his brown eyes. His appearance tells a different story, his dark hair slicked back and his clothes perfectly ironed, as always. He’s even wearing a lab coat today; they must be doing some experiments in his science classes that requires them.

“Practice, mostly.” I shrug and adjust my turtleneck self-consciously. People always stared when the two of us were together, the big buff science major and the tiny scrap of an art major. “I’ve woken up early for so long that I’m just used to it, y’know?” I grin up at Ryan and he huffs at me.

“That isn’t even fair. Why can’t you be normal like the rest of us?” He grumbles and yawns again. His eyes get all squinty when he does that. I think it’s kind of cute.

“Overrated. Dude, you need coffee. As in, you need it yesterday, you’re gonna fall asleep over a beaker of acid or something at this rate.” I cross my arms and frown at him, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’ll be fine, Andi, calm down. Just gotta wake up a bit. We aren’t even working with acids today.” Ryan insists. “Coffee is gross, anyway.”

I feign offense. “I can no longer be seen with you.”

“Drama queen.” Ryan ruffles my hair, ignoring my protests. “Bell’s gonna ring and I got places to be. See you later?”

“Yeah, sure. Oh!” I reach into the side pouch of my bag and tug a bright purple daffodil from the bundle of flowers. I hand it to Ryan and he laughs as he accepts the bloom.

“You still handing these out?” He slips the stem of the flower into the top buttonhole of his lab coat. It looks ridiculous and absolutely perfect.

“Of course. They make people happy.” I look down at my feet and shrug. “I like to make people happy.”

“You’re such a sap.” He waves goodbye and hurries off to his first class, leaving me to push my way through the halls on my own.

\----

By the end of the day, I’ve given away almost all of the flowers I had cut that morning.  The way people’s faces light up when they receive such a small gift leaves me with a warm, fuzzy feeling for the rest of the day.

The final bell rings and I’m ready for it, slinging my bag over my shoulder and holding it close. Perhaps today they’ll leave me alone, let me get to my happy little flower shop unscathed.

No such luck. I leave the building and nearly make it off campus, only to have a large hand grab the back of my turtleneck and yank. I trip backward, barely keeping myself from falling over, and tremble when I realise I’ve been surrounded. Again. The daffodils that have been blooming in my mind since the morning’s encounter with Ryan wither and are replaced by a sea of tiny multicoloured anemone.

I swallow hard, a terrified lump in my throat, and try to avoid the eyes of my assailants. There are six of them, all male, all Ryan’s science buddies. When I first befriended Ryan several years ago, his friends never much cared for me. I wasn’t one of them, preferring to coordinate the colours in the bouquets I made instead of run tests on the flowers to analyze the genetic codes within.

Not long after, they found out a few things about me and my past that their religion apparently doesn’t agree with. Ever since, they’ve been working to make my life a living hell and succeeding. You would think that college kids would have grown up by now, but no, everyone’s still acting like middle schoolers ganging up on that one kid ever so slightly different from the rest.

I’m pulled from my little internal rant when one of them speaks, a man in my English class named Sean. I don’t bother listening to the words. I know what he’s saying and I’ve long since learned to block out the spiteful words. The tone of his voice is irritating, nasally and harsh on the ears. I cross my arms defensively over my chest and glare, not flinching when Sean’s voice rises in volume. It makes his voice crack and I can’t help but smirk faintly, knowing it’ll get me into more trouble but unable to hold the expression back.

“Oh, you think something is funny?” Sean snarls at me. The next thing I see is a fist flying toward me. It connects with my cheekbone and knocks me to the ground. There’s definitely going to be a bruise there; I can feel it forming even as Sean lashes me with his voice. “Laugh at me now, you little faggot.”

Faggot.

_ Faggot. _

An orange lily blooms in the center of my field of anemone. I tremble a little from where I’m curled up on the ground, rage coursing its way through my veins, Sean mistaking it for fear. He grins triumphantly, the other five laughing and kicking at my spine. I grit my teeth and bear the beating until it’s over. Fighting back will only make the situation worse, I know from previous experience.

It feels like years before they leave me there on the hard ground. It feels like another few years before I can pull myself together enough to struggle to my feet, brush the dirt off of my sweater, and begin the walk to my little flower shop. I limp, my left ankle bruised, luckily not broken.

By the time I open up shop, I have relaxed enough to form a plan. I’m tired of dealing with Sean and his gang of cowards. I’ve had enough.

The lilies have multiplied.

\----

When I walk into the college a few days later, Ryan takes one look at me and immediately panics. He’s full of questions- who did it, when, are you okay, why didn’t you call- but I brush him off with a few smiles and a bundle of daffodils. I had planned for this, and while he still shoots me concerned looks, he’s stopped questioning me in favour of admiring the blooms and changing the subject to my flower shop. We chat about this, that, the other thing until I give him an excuse (“Ryan, I really need to get to class, I’ve got some questions for the professor.”) and make my escape, feeling guilty.

I’m the only one in the class when I walk in. I smile to myself and set my things by my seat, pulling a couple flowers free from my bag and setting one on a desk nearby. The other flower I give to my professor, making small talk until students begin to filter in.

When Sean finds the orange lily on his desk, the horrified confusion on his face is priceless.

\----

“Andrew, your sweater is stained!” These are the first words I hear from Ryan when we next meet.

“What? Oh, yeah. I was working on a project for my art class and it turns out red paint really stains. I tried to bleach it out, but….” I frown at the pink splatters on the white fabric of the knit and sigh. “Ah, well. It is what it is, right?”

“It adds colour to your wardrobe.” Ryan nods, ruffling my hair with one of his big hands.

“Can you not? Seriously, rude.” I glare at him and he laughs.

“Sorry, not sorry. Hey, have you heard about what happened to Sean?” He asks abruptly.

“No. I don’t get out much, remember?”

“Yeah, but it’s been all over the news. How have you missed it? ‘College Student Murdered In Cold Blood,’ the headlines say, or variations of it. It’s crazy!” Ryan’s voice lowered, making it sound like he was sharing some sort of crazy conspiracy. “He was stabbed thirty-seven times in the chest with a pair of pruning shears. Can you imagine?”

I shudder. “I’d really rather not imagine that, thanks. Have they got any idea who did it?”

“Not a single clue. The scene was wiped clean. The only reason they know it was pruning shears and not a knife was because of the shape and size of the wounds.” He shakes his head. “Pretty crazy. I wonder who Sean pissed off so much?”

“Couldn’t tell you, man. That’s brutal.” I wrap my arms around myself and glance around. “You’ve given me the willies. I’m gonna be paranoid for the next week thanks to you. Jerk.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about! You’re, like, the last person in this school that would be the target of some murderer. I mean, you’re short, quiet, and nice to literally  _ everybody _ .” Ryan points out, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Fine, fine. I still don’t have to be excited about a murderer around here.” I give in, knowing that he’ll pursue the point until I agree. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know.”

“Yep!” His grin is entirely too cheery for the situation. You would think he’d be grieving, since one of his friends had just died.  _ Maybe this is just how he deals with it, _ I muse and end up thinking about it for the rest of the day.

\----

A month passes. The police have no leads on what happened to Sean. If I’m honest, I’m sort of relieved he isn’t around anymore. Salt cedars sprout and grow in my thoughts whenever I catch myself thinking such things, so I try to avoid any mention of Sean. Such a feat is rather difficult to pull off when the entire school, no, the entire  _ town _ is abuzz with the brutal murder. I hate it.

People have taken notice of my change in attitude. I’ll admit, I’ve gotten rather grumpy of late. Couldn’t anyone see that Sean was an ableist jerk? I know I wasn’t the only one targeted by him. Everyone’s treating him like such a hero all of a sudden, even the people that didn’t like him! It’s frustrating.

My customers have gotten a bit wary when they converse with me in my shop. I don’t really blame them. It’s not like I mean to be a bit short-tempered, I’m just tired of hearing about Sean! Ugh.

And then, one day, I’m surrounded by his old gang all over again.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Can’t you guys lay off for once?” I snap, glaring. I’m not in the mood to roll over and take their abuse. Not that I’m ever in the mood, but the point remains.

They laugh and shake their heads. Of course. I glance around, trying to find a way out of this as the anemone bloom in my head again. “Look, you’ve got things to do, I’ve got things to do. Why don’t we just not do this?” I try to reason with them, shifting nervously under their leering faces.

To give the short version of the story, they don’t leave for quite a while.

\----

I stop at the shop just long enough to care for the plants growing there. I can’t focus. I hurt all over. I’m pretty sure my left wrist is sprained, if not broken. It’s hard to lift the watering can up high enough to water the flowers and I just want to go home and not think for a while.

It takes a couple of hours to endure a walk home that usually takes thirty minutes at most. I keep having to stop to catch my breath and calm down, avoiding the stares of the other people on the sidewalks. I hate it when people stare; it makes me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Self-consciously, I press the sleeve of my sweater to my bloody nose even though it’s stopped bleeding and hurry on.

It’s difficult to resist the urge to collapse onto the couch and not move for a few hours the moment I walk in the door, but my other flowers need attention, too. I care for them as quickly as I can before I scurry to take care of my scrapes and bruises.

As I disinfect a rather nasty cut along my temple, I realise that all those anemone have wilted and been replaced by a sea of orange lilies. I decide I’m done rolling over and taking the abuse. I’m done.

\----

A week passes without incident. Granted, the lack of incident stems from my refusal to go to my classes. I email all of my teachers and tell them I’ve come down with a nasty case of double pinkeye that I don’t want to spread. They accept the explanation and send me the week’s assignments and deadlines.

I work on what they’ve sent me while I consider my options. I could fight back, but that would just make things worse. There are five of them and one of me- they would win, no problem. I could tell Ryan what’s been going on- but he’d be heartbroken that his friends would do that. Worse, he’d side with them and join the bullying. I could move- but it was too expensive and, past the abuse, I’m happy here.

Ryan’s obviously worried about me when I come back, but I brush him off once more. I’m fine, Rye-bread, just fell down some stairs, no that’s not why I was gone, et cetera, et cetera. I can’t tell him the truth.

It’s a bit harder to give the five men their orange lilies, but I manage it. Scott finds one in his bag. James’ is on his doorstep. Don’s is taped to his window. Cody’s is accompanied with an essay he failed- he really shouldn’t have English as his major. Evan finds his lily in his back pocket as he walks down the hall.

I’ve begun a bit of a project, researching some pretty unique flowers and ordering them online. They arrive not long after Don gets his lily and I’m happy to report that they’re growing well- many of them have already begun to bloom. They’ll be ready around this time next year, provided they live through the winter. It’s currently November.

\----

It’s January when Scott disappears without a trace. I’m getting a bit of coffee when I find out. The shop has the news on and his face shows up on the screen next to a bunch of information about him. I frown and absentmindedly accept the coffee from the barista as it is offered, wondering where he had gone. Sure, I hadn’t liked him, but I didn’t want something like this to happen to the guy.

Of course, that’s all Ryan talks about for the next week.

\----

James is found dead in an alley in February, his clothing dyed red with his own blood. Ryan made me watch the news story on it, but I couldn’t make it through the disgustingly gory images that kept showing up on the screen. They suspect the murderer is the same guy that killed Sean several months ago due to the brutality of the homicide.

I really hope that they catch this guy soon. This town is normally so quiet that the thought of such a person hiding among us is terrifying. Not that the thought of a killer isn’t terrifying, but here in our little community? I can’t believe it.

\----

All is quiet until May, when they find Don strung up in his own room. It would look like a suicide if it weren’t for the spray of Arabian starflowers draped over his shoulders like a shawl.

People have started to suspect me for these murders now that flowers have made an appearance. I’m absolutely petrified- me, a murderer? Never! My mother raised me better than to take the life of someone else, no matter how much of a jerk they are. I’m just glad that Ryan has been a steadfast companion through all of this, even if he’s a bit paranoid and never shuts up about the murders.

\----

When Cody disappears in July, Ryan shows up at my doorstep in a panic. He’s convinced he’s next, he’s going to die, he’s too young, he has so much left to do! I quickly let him in and make him a cup of tea using the peppermint leaves I has just harvested from the greenhouse. Tea makes everything better.

I have him sit on my couch and let him pour out his fears, quietly listening to each word. Seeing him in this state makes my heart hurt, a field of snapdragons and harebell blossoming. When he finally stops talking, I go and gather every blanket in the house. It’s childish, I know, but I make him build a fort with me that sprawls across the entire living room. We curl up inside and watch movies until he falls asleep in the middle of  _ Zodiac _ . I tuck a pillow under his head and shut the movie up, deciding two in the morning is a decent time to go to bed.Thank goodness there aren’t any classes in the morning.

\----

It’s September, my favourite month. The leaves are so pretty on the trees this time of year and the weather is cool enough for me to wear my favourite sweater, the one that used to be white but is now a faded red. Ryan noticed and asked about it. I told him that I had accidentally put a red shirt in with my laundry, which isn’t a lie.

I’m scrubbing the grime off of my pruning shears when Ryan swings by my house. He walks in without knocking, as I’ve gotten used to him coming around. I hadn’t been expecting him today, though, and my face turns pale when I hear the tentative call of my name from him. I quietly pick the frying pan up off the stove and quietly creep near the kitchen entrance, listening to his footsteps approach.

“Andi, are you in here? Your living room is a mess. Are you alright?” His voice gets louder the closer he gets and I hold my breath, gripping the pan tight in my hands.

Ryan, my dear, sweet Ryan, steps into the kitchen and I swing the pan as hard as I can, clubbing him in the back of the head and knocking him out instantly.

\----

I’m sitting next to him when he wakes up, his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied together in front of him. He begins to panic when he realises what’s happened and I sigh softly.

“Ryan, hush. I don’t want this any more than you do.” I murmur, clutching the newly cleaned shears in my lap.

“Andi, please don’t do this. Please.” He begs and I shake my head.

“No, no. You know too much. I love you, but I can’t let you go. I hope you understand.” I tremble a little as my gaze wanders to the third body in the room. Ryan follows my gaze and I have to press my hand over his mouth as he finally notices the mangled corpse of Evan, the last of my tormentors.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan, I just couldn’t do it anymore. They kept hurting and hurting and I had to end it. I was so tired, you know.” I try to soothe him. He stares at me with wide eyes and I sigh again, raising the pruning shears.

\----

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan is unconscious and the faded red of my sweater has been brightened considerably. I lift the shears and hesitate before lowering them. I…. I can’t do it. I stand up slowly and back away, the shears falling from my grasp. I clutch at the sleeves of my sweater and flee the room, fighting back tears. What have I done? How could I hurt Ryan this way?

I hide in my greenhouse for the next hour, quietly stringing together a crown of poppy, primrose, rue, and sweet briar blossoms as I try to plan my next move. I weave a few orange blossoms in to complete the crown and return to the living room to see if the damage I had done could be reversed.

I walk in and see Ryan’s awake, his phone bright by his side as he babbles away, clearly trying to stay awake.  _ Stupid Andrew,  _ I scold myself,  _ you left his phone in his back pocket! _

I kneel next to him and set the crown on his head, venus flytraps snapping their jaws at my consciousness as the red and blue lights flash outside of my windows. I sit back on my heels and nod, resigning myself to my fate. My time is over.

The police storm my house, guns raised and voices loud. I don’t struggle when they cuff me and push me into the back of their car. It would be pointless to try. They’ll save my Ryan if they take me away. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.

\----

The trial is swift and decisive. There is too much evidence against me. My lawyer decides to plead insanity and I agree simply because it is easier. I’m so tired.

I confess not only to the murder of the six men that had tormented me for so long, but to twelve other homicides in nearby towns. I’ve been doing this since eighth grade, of course there would be more than just the ones in the last year. I had gotten too cocky with these last ones, barely managing to stay under the radar since Don’s death. I’m sentenced to spend my life locked away in an asylum for the criminally insane. That’s okay with me, although….

I always thought a padded cell would be softer than this.


End file.
